


The Gulf Between Us

by Miah_Arthur



Series: Closer Than Yesterday [3]
Category: Haven - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Case Fic, M/M, Relationship(s), Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-07 06:10:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3164201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miah_Arthur/pseuds/Miah_Arthur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cold case stirred up by the recent fires leads Nathan and Audrey to unpick the betrayals of faith and strained relationships of the past, while Nathan and Duke navigate building a new trust to forge a future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU after mid-season 2. It is also an expanded timeline AU where Audrey is in Haven from June 2009 to October 2011. The AU series began in spring of 2010.
> 
> There is a lot that won't make much sense if you haven't read the rest of the series.
> 
>  Disclaimer of ownership, yadda, yadda
> 
> **Thanks to Roseveare11 for being my beta. Seriously, she's great.**

 

 

# The Gulf Between Us

 

 

After a couple of days enforced time-off for the concussion, stitches, and sprained shoulder, I was more than ready to get back to work, and the Adrianna Gulf case had been sitting on my desk without my attention for far too long. 

The first problem of the day hit me when I walked out the door and saw an empty driveway. I mentally smacked myself. How had I forgotten the damage my truck had sustained from the turtle? 

I could call Parker, but I knew she'd pick up on the fact I had forgotten–I would have called her much earlier, if I had remembered. I weighed my other options. I could have a patrol car pick me up, but I really wasn't comfortable pulling rank like that. _Duke will be free_. I shook my head and sipped my coffee. 

I wasn't sure I would be entirely comfortable with involving Duke in a case again for a long time. He wasn't doing as well as he claimed to be. That much, at least, was obvious, and I had spent the day flirting with him, instead of paying attention. I was caught up in remembering how things once were and how much I had regretted letting him die without ever trying again. Then again, he was the one that had suggested a date, so maybe I was underestimating him.

I shook my head. Things were complicated with Duke, and I needed to concentrate today. _Dwight_. I dialed the phone. I needed to get a more detailed report on the Havershams from the big man anyway.

"Dwight." 

"Are you available?" I could hear road sounds and a radio in the background of the call.

"Not until at least this afternoon. I'm on my way to Camden." 

" _Take me down to the paradise city_ " I spoke louder to block out the radio, "I need your report on the Havershams when you get back."

"You're going to work today?" 

I was sure the incredulity in Dwight's tone was unnecessary. "I'll be there," I said curtly.

"I'll drop by when I get back to town."

"Thanks, Dwight."

I stared at the phone. So it was face complicated head-on or else the mother-henning of my partner all day. I took a deep breath. Time to find out if there was more to that offer Duke had made than smoke and mirrors.

"Nathan! How ya doing, buddy?" 

I heard road noise and a familiar guitar riff. Duke rarely had that overly chummy tone unless he was feeling guilty about something. "My truck's in the shop. Do you want to help out on this case today?"

" _Take me down to the paradise city where the grass is green and girls are pretty_ ," picked up from the radio while Duke hesitated. "Sorry, Nate. I wish I could, I really do, but I have this...thing this morning. I should be done by afternoon."

I waited. That sounded like genuine regret in Duke's tone, but the same song and road noise and the guilty tone… It would be just like Duke to drag Dwight down into some illegal scam.

After a long awkward pause, Duke said, "So how's your head? Think you'll be up to poker on Saturday?"

"Maybe. I have work to do now, Duke."

"Sure, sure. See you." He'd hung up before I could say anything else. 

I'd just about worked myself up into an indignant outrage over Duke, and still didn't want to admit that I needed to call Parker, when a patrol car eased to a stop in front of my driveway. Stan got out and approached with that same cheerfulness he always seemed to wear.

"Need a ride, Chief?" he asked from the base of the stairs. 

I sighed, but said, "Thanks, Stan."

He stopped outside Rosemary's without asking. "Detective Parker says don't forget you promised her a cupcake last week." Amusement crinkled around the corners of his eyes.

I slid out and bought the required cupcake, a bear claw, plus one of the blueberry danish that I knew Stan preferred. When we arrived at the station I handed him the danish bag. He headed back to his patrol, and I made my way up the stairs.

Parker was sitting at her desk pretending to do paperwork. I could tell, because she had the same pencil twirl going she always had when she was only pretending to do paperwork.

I put the cupcake in front of her and retreated to my desk. Surprisingly she let me eat in peace. I caught her stealing glances my way, and figured she was trying to assess my physical condition and therefore what to bring up in the case. I must have passed.

"So Lucassi called while you were trying to decide who to ask for a ride. He has the autopsy results on Adriana Gulf."

I stood up and put my jacket back on without saying anything. What could I say, when she had nailed it?

As soon as we walked into the morgue, Lucassi started talking. "I have confirmed from the dental records that this is Adriana Gulf. Likely cause of death is exsanguination. You can see here that the victim was stabbed multiple times in the face, chest, and abdomen. There are numerous defensive wounds on her hands and arms."

"She fought her attacker," Parker said.

"Oh yes. The attack was quite brutal. There are a total of forty-one wounds. But it was also inexperienced. You see these wounds here on the chest?" He pointed to several spots that had depth markers sticking up. "These are superficial. No real depth of penetration."

I nodded. "Marks of hesitation."

"That's right, but this one?" He touched a marker that was barely visible. "This one was full penetration. In fact–" He picked up a sample jar from the instrument table. "The heart was almost completely bisected. A wound like that would have resulted in her death in seconds. The knife tip lodged in the posterior rib directly behind the heart and left the tip embedded." He indicated a sample jar on the tray. "I believe this likely belongs to a large kitchen knife."

I took the jar and looked at the knife tip. It was a substantial piece of the blade. 

"The attack didn't stop with this blow. Most of the damage to the face happened after the blade was broken. The size and shape of the wounds is different than the blows to the body."

I set the jar back on the instrument table. "There was a lot of rage in this attack." 

Lucassi nodded. "The body has been remarkably well-preserved. I'd say _improbably_ well-preserved. This sort of curing of the skin–you see here, it's almost like leather? This should only happen to bodies in, say, peat bogs." He had shifted into that tone of utter fascination that tended to make people shy away from him in ordinary conversation. "It makes it quite impossible to determine the date of death."

"No peat bogs around here, right?" Parker asked, and I shook my head. "So we have a Troubled person who kills by ordinary means, then preserves the body." She looked closely at the skin. "Our killer might not even be aware of the Trouble if this happened after the body was dumped."

Could we finally have a death that didn't result from a Trouble? "You're sure the stab wounds happened before the tanning?"

"Absolutely." His head bobbed to the side as he pointed. "You can even see here and here these darkened areas of the tissue where the wounds were bleeding. She was definitely alive when these wounds were made. There is one other thing."

We looked at him expectantly.

"The victim was pregnant. Still in the first trimester. I don't believe I'll be able to determine anything beyond that. The preservation of the body affected the fetus as well, and there is no viable tissue to test for blood typing or DNA."

"Don't they get DNA from Egyptian mummies?" Parker asked.

"That is hotly debated, and even when they claim they have, it takes many months, incredibly stringent protocols, and getting a full sequence just isn't possible. With such a small sample size, attempting to sequence it would destroy it entirely making any results that were obtained unverifiable by an independent lab."

Parker sighed. "So inadmissible anyway." 

"Anything else you have pending?" I was eager to get started. A case that required actual police work!

"Well, I am running some tests for the presence of chemicals to see if I can determine how the body was preserved, but if it was a Trouble, I likely won't get any answers."

"You'll let us know if you find anything?" Parker accepted the copies of his findings so far. 

"Of course."

I gave him a nod, and turned to leave. Parker caught up to me in the hall. 

"Could be a jealous boyfriend," she said. 

"We'll have to redo the interviews. We missed something."

"Unless she really did leave town and only recently returned to be killed."

I shrugged. With the body preserved by a Trouble, Parker could be right. "Still need to inform her mother."

"Maybe now she'll tell us about their Trouble. Maybe the preservation is their Trouble."

The way to Mrs. Gulf's home led by the marina. I stared out the window as Parker drove past. Duke's truck was in the parking lot. Further on I spotted the Cape Rouge. So my assumption that Duke and Dwight were together today was probably right, but at least they hadn't pulled out on the _Rouge_ smuggling some mystery box. 

Actually, I knew Duke hadn't moved his boat once since returning. I'd kept tabs on the marina the last few months with the excuse of knowing more about the general traffic patterns, but it had the side benefit of keeping an eye on him when I couldn't be any closer. 

I still hadn't quite forgiven myself for not noticing he was gone for two weeks. The things Duke wrote and said at the cabin still rattled around my brain. He'd been so frail–mentally and physically–and even while I was there, I hadn't protected him from the Rev. I still hadn't found out which member of the Guard had leaked our location to the Rev, but trying had cost me whatever potential I'd had with Jordan and put me on rough terms with Vince. Well, to be fair, killing her cousin hadn't helped things along with Jordan, but realizing how Ian McKee had been using his Trouble–seeing and hearing it? I wished I'd personally been the one to kill the bastard.

"Nathan? _Nathan_." I looked over at Parker. "You sure you're up for this today? You're zoning out on me."

"I'm fine." I almost asked how long until we'd be there when I realized we were parked in front of Mrs. Gulf's house. No wonder Parker was worrying.

She shrugged and disembarked. I followed. By silent agreement, she led the way to the house. We knew the Gulfs were Troubled. The mother had admitted that when she reported her daughter missing nearly four months ago. What she had refused to do was explain what, exactly, that Trouble was, only saying that its effects were personal, and it was not in any way harmful to others. Parker was the one with the talent for soothing the Troubled, so I hung back a step as she knocked. 

Mrs. Gulf was in her mid-fifties. Everything about her was elegant. Her hair and makeup were carefully attended to, her clothing was graceful and perfectly neat. The house was immaculately tidy. We had just caught her before she left for her job as an office manager at an insurance firm. She invited us in with an expression that said she utterly dreaded the reason for our visit. Parker informed her of the dental records match. The reaction was remarkably subdued. 

A sharp inhale, a tightening around the eyes, one hand pressed to her lips. Then she folded her hands in her lap and said, "Where was she found?"

"In the fire zone, Saturday." Parker looked almost unsettled at the calm reaction.

"She never left town then. How did she die?" 

"She was stabbed, Mrs. Gulf. We're trying to determine a timeline. Do you have any reason to believe that she would have left town and then returned recently?"

"Why-why would you ask that? Can't you tell how long it's been?" 

"Unfortunately there has been a unique preservation involved, and we aren't able to determine date of death. I know your family is Troubled. Would it relate to that?"

"No! Adriana wasn't in a position in her life to trigger it. She would have told me if she had been!" One hand flicked toward us. "It doesn't matter now." She shook her head. "None of it matters now." She was getting more noticeably upset. I wondered if we were about to see a demonstration of her Trouble.

"Adriana had disappeared before, hadn't she?" Parker asked gently.

"She had left town before, but she always phoned me at least once a week while she was gone. I always had some idea of where she was. I've been expecting this visit since you couldn't find her in May." She gasped, almost a sob, but tightly controlled. "It doesn't make hearing it any easier. Would you please leave now?"

We left with no more answers than we had arrived with. Mrs. Gulf was a formidable woman, who clearly didn't want to break down in front of us, and for now, at least, we'd respect that.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

Adriana Gulf had worked at a shop called The Herbal Farm that sold locally made organic bath products. The scale of production wasn't large. The shop usually employed four to five young women at any given time, and they made product when not serving customers. It was one of their draws that customers could watch the production, because they had nothing to hide.

We found the two girls we had originally interviewed, and followed them outside to a picnic table surrounded by a formal herb garden behind the shop. The smell was amazing. I could be happy visiting here everyday. Something like this on a smaller scale at home would be nice, if only I didn't murder plants. 

"So, what? you want to know about Ana again?" One of the girls, Jean Huffman, asked.

Parker jumped right in. "Yes. The last time we talked to you, you mentioned that you didn't believe she would have left town, because she had a party planned."

"Yeah, she said it would be huge. Pretty odd for her. She didn't normally do the party thing, but she invited everyone, and promised alcohol, so a lot of people were planning on going." Jean had long curly brown hair, petite build, and features that would forever doom her to the description 'cute'.

The other girl, Cindy Proctor, had dyed her hair jet black, and wore heavy makeup. I wasn't sure, but I thought that style had gone out of fashion a few years ago, even with people in their early twenties.

"What else can you tell us about this party?" I asked.

"It was supposed to be at her place. Her and her roommate were throwing it together, but Meghan didn't carry through, so we decided it must have been Ana's idea."

"Any idea what prompted her to plan this party? You said it wasn't normally like her." Parker was looking more interested in this line of questioning than she had before. 

With Adriana's history of leaving town with little to no warning in the past, we hadn't been too sure this time was any different when we asked around earlier in the year. Nothing had seemed unduly suspicious. A bus ticket showed up on her credit card, and we'd decided she had likely just left, despite her mother's suspicions. 

"No, she didn't really talk about it much. She seemed really happy, you know?" Jean twirled her hair.

"Are you sure you aren't leaving anything out?" I pushed.

The girls glanced at each other, and Cindy said, "Cyril might know."

"Cyril?" Parker flipped through our notes, to the page of his interview. Cyril Moran had been the last person to report seeing her back in May. He had said that Adriana was considering leaving town, but hadn't told him why.

"Ana used to take her lunch down there with him." Jean was twisting her hair so hard that I thought she might break it at any point.

"Was she dating Cyril?" Parker asked gently. The girls were looking more and more nervous, like they wanted to say something, but hadn't worked up to it yet.

"No!" Jean said, shaking her head.

"No way!" They glanced at each other again, and Cindy added, "I've never seen Cyril dating."

Jean released the hair she had knotted around her fingers. "Is Ana dead? We heard about that body up in the woods."

"I'm afraid so." Parker paused while they gasped and shook their heads. Tears leaked down Cindy's face, leaving trails of mascara down her cheeks. When they had quietened down some, Parker continued. "That's why it's important for you to tell us anything else you might know about Adriana. Who she was seeing, what she had been doing just before she disappeared, even things that you didn't think were important at the time."

After several long minutes of tear choked conversation, we had gotten nothing else useful from them. They were very sure that Adriana Gulf did not date, did not go to parties, had not been unduly upset at any point in the three months prior to her disappearance, and didn't spend a lot of time with people outside of work and eating lunch with Cyril Moran. She'd been nervous-excited about the party, but wouldn't tell anyone why she had decided to have one. Had just told everyone that they'd find out why if they came.

As we left the garden, I gave it one last longing look, but the two young women still crying at the table gave me ample incentive to hurry to follow Parker out to the street. The hardware shop was only a few doors down from The Herbal Farm.

The hardware store was one of those traditional places. The space was a maze of bins, canisters, and shelves all filled with various fixtures, fashioners, tools and other miscellany. The till was up front, but no one was in sight as we approached. The door had a string of bells hanging on the inside handle, which loudly announced our presence. 

A head peeked up over a shelf in the back. "Do you need help finding anything?"

"Cyril Moran?" Parker called out to him.

"Yes? Can I help you?" Moran came closer as he talked. He had close-cropped black hair, a full beard, and a muscular build. He looked like he thought he was a lumberjack, wearing boots, heavy blue jeans, suspenders, and a red and black flannel shirt. He seemed too young for the clothing style. Hell, I was too young for those clothes.

I showed him my badge once he was standing in front of us. He looked confused for a moment, a look that I thought a touch too theatrical to be genuine, then his eyes widened as he said, "Oh! Chief Wuornos, right? And… Detective Parker?"

"That's right," Parker said, "We're here to ask you some more questions about Adriana Gulf."

He looked...shifty. Had he been this bad at lying the first time we talked to him? I didn't think we could have missed this level of over-acting entirely. So something new–like gossip that a body had been found–had to be making him nervous. 

"I haven't heard from her since before you asked the first time. She left town, right?" 

I decided to be blunt. Shock him. See what shook loose. "She's dead. Stabbed. Dumped in the woods."

The color drained from his face and he staggered back until he bumped into the check out counter where he slid down to the floor. He pulled his knees up and put his head on them. It seemed like he shrank right before my eyes from a cocky lumberjack wannabe to a twenty-four year old kid. 

Parker glared at me. She didn't offer him comfort though. She moved in to exploit the opening. "Tell us what really happened, Cyril. You'll feel better with the truth out."

He took several deep breaths, each one more steady, then he pushed his way back to his feet. "Ana came to me. The day she left–" he swallowed hard. "Disappeared. She told me she was having second thoughts. She was thinking about leaving again."

"Second thoughts about the two of you?" I asked.

He looked at me oddly. "I wasn't dating Ana. We were _friends_."

"The problem with believing that is you are the only man anyone can remember her talking to, so unless you can come up with a very good explanation, you are our prime suspect."

He looked stricken, his mouth working open and closed several times. "Oh my God. You'd only be so sure there was a man involved if… If…" He paled and started gagging. "Oh god." He whirled around to the trashcan and heaved noisily.

I traded a look with Parker, who shrugged. It wasn't exactly the reaction I'd been expecting. We waited until he recovered enough to speak. He still looked pale and ready to puke.

"I take that to mean that you are telling us that the two of you weren't having sex," I said.

He shook his head, the earlier caginess absent. "I'm–" He took a deep breath. "I'm gay." He pulled a chain with a ring on it from under his shirt. "I'm engaged. Terry and I have been together since High School. We're just...discreet." 

I had wasted a lot of time maintaining discretion. Hopefully this kid would wise up faster than I had. 

He looked at me with desperate sincerity. "Ana was a lesbian. She's never been with a man. Never wanted to be. She is–was–further in the closet than me and Terry. We talked about it a lot. Coming out. Staying in. What the reactions would be. You know the owner of The Herbal Farm attends Reverend Driscoll's church? She was afraid she'd lose her job if they knew! And… And, now…" He put his hands on his knees and bowed his head, trying to swallow his stomach back down.

We gave him time to collect himself again. He finally straightened up and continued. "You need to talk to Meghan. They weren't roommates. They were lovers. Have been for a few years. Meghan was always pressuring Ana to come out. She hated being in the closet. That party was supposed to be their coming out. Ana said she just couldn't go through with it. She was nervous. Said that there was something she had to tell Meghan and that Meghan wasn't going to like it."

He rocked from foot to foot and wrung his hands, and somehow I still didn't find it as fake as his initial theatrical reactions to our presence. "What did she need to tell Meghan, Cyril?" Parker asked gently.

"I don't know! She wouldn't tell me." His shoulders shook and his voiced cracked. We were about to witness a full breakdown, I suspected. "I should have pushed her to tell me. Or–" a sob escaped. "Or not pushed her to talk it out with Meghan."

"Why would talking it out with Meghan be a problem?" Parker was patting him on the shoulder now, still using her most soothing voice. 

He took a deep breath and pulled himself together. "They'd had fights." His hands scrubbed together. "Oh, God. Meghan had gotten violent." He shook his head. "But that was a few years ago! I thought they were past all that. I just wanted Ana to be happy. I thought she was! She was in love, and I thought Meghan was too. I told her she needed to give Meghan a chance."

"What do you mean 'fights'?" I asked.

"Screaming matches, threatening to out Ana. She ripped up all of Ana's favorite shirts and broke a lot of her things once when Ana left for a few days. She used to push Ana around, like shove her against the wall. Hit her with a toaster once. Threw a bowl of cake batter all over her when Ana was dressed up to go to something without her." 

I raised an eyebrow. "And you say all this stopped a few years ago?"

"Ana broke up with her. Meghan went away somewhere for a few months. When she got back, she was better. They moved into that place they were in, and things have been good."

"Were you aware that she was Troubled?" Parker asked, gently.

"What? No." He shook his head. "She never told me."

I wondered if Mrs. Gulf had known about her daughter's relationship, and why she hadn't told us. "How many people knew about her and Meghan? Did her mother know?"

"Not very many. Terry and I. Maybe two or three others. Her mother definitely knew." The emphasis he put on the word definitely was suspicious.

Parker beat me to asking about it. "Did her mother have a problem with the relationship?"

"She didn't like Meghan. Never did. It wasn't the lesbian thing. She was fine with the girl Ana dated the year after high school. Ana always said her mom thought Meghan wasn't good enough for her."

"So Ana and her mother had a difficult relationship?" I added notes. We were learning a lot that could have possibly helped us find Adriana Gulf before she had been killed. 

"She loved her mom, and she knew her mom loved her, but they argued. Her mom was always trying to tell her how to live her life, and Ana wanted to be independent."

"Is that why she had left town before?" Mrs. Gulf had admitted that their relationship hadn't always been the best, but insisted that Adriana would never disappear completely. 

Cyril nodded. 

"When did you last see her, Cyril?" Parker asked. 

"She came by right after work, the last day anyone saw her. Just like I told you before. It was a Tuesday. Ana said they were engaged, that this wasn't just coming out, but an announcement of their engagement. I thought–but I was a coward. I thought that if her announcements went well that Terry and I could follow their example and now she's dead." the pitch of his voice rose. "And not just dead, right? There's only one reason you'd be looking for a man."

"She was pregnant. You seem very certain there was no man."

"She would have told me if she'd been… been… It had to have happened after she disappeared." He nodded like he was reassuring himself. "Some sick bastard kidnapped her, kept her. That has to be the answer. There was no one but Meghan for her."

"Are you going to be all right? Do you need us to call someone?" Parker drew him toward the employee room in the back. I waited at the front. None of the women we had rescued from the Rev had mentioned any sexual harassment. In fact, they'd described most of their interactions with the Rev's men as 'clinical'. Probably didn't want to risk cursing their dicks with the tainted. So if they had taken Adriana Gulf for their sick pleasures then she would have been an outlier in not just time, but actions. 

I wasn't discounting them as the perpetrators, but they didn't seem the most likely. If only she hadn't been turned to leather, so we had a more solid time of death. As it was, we were looking at any time between the middle of May and the beginning of September. A lot could happen in that time. A lot _had_ happened in that time. The idea that we could have a serial killer kidnapping women and holding them, completely separate from the religious fanatics that had kidnapped and held Duke and the other Troubled for so long, was particularly disturbing.

I was relieved when a wiry young man smelling of brine with a hint of hydraulic oil that suggested dockhand ran through the door and asked where Cyril was. 

"Terry?"

He nodded a little frantically, and I pointed toward the back. He dashed through, and Parker came out shortly after. I checked my watch. 10:45 and it had already been a long day. We walked back to Parker's car quietly. No good discussing a case where anyone might overhear us. 

The route to Meghan Monague's apartment took us right past Claire Callahan's office where Dwight's truck was prominently the only vehicle in the lot. 

Nothing had changed my earlier assumption that Duke and Dwight were together today, but an appointment with Claire might be exactly the sort of thing Duke wouldn't want me–us–knowing. A fierce pang of resentment shot through me, which was stupid considering that I hadn't even spoken to him–and barely to Dwight–in the last two months. Knowing it was irrational didn't make the feeling go away.

The idea that Duke was seeing Claire, apparently willingly, was enough to make me regret further that I had insisted on him coming with us for the fire. The guilt from earlier regarding his real condition resurfaced. But I didn't like being lied to, either. I was trying to focus on a murder case, and I didn't need all this bouncing around my mind. I was fast descending into a bad mood. 

The residence Meghan Monague and Adriana Gulf had shared was in a large house subdivided into four comfortably sized apartments. The whole place had hardwood floors and art deco trims with a fireplace in nearly every room. We had wondered how two girls working low paying jobs could afford such a nice apartment, but when we spoke to the owner we had found that she was an older woman who believed in giving young women a helping hand. She was an odd bird, but end result–the rent was low enough that they could afford it. 

Parker banged the heavy knocker. The only car on the street belonged to Ms. Monague. This was a quiet neighborhood. The street was lined with similar big old houses that had been converted to Bed and Breakfasts. We had canvassed the entire neighborhood and not gotten a single lead. Maybe we would get something new with the knowledge that Adriana Gulf was dead. 

The door opened just a crack and a woman peeked out. She looked at us closely and then opened the door wider. I remembered a tall, athletic woman who was well-groomed and well-dressed. Today she was wearing a large baggy sweatshirt and leggings that couldn't disguise the fact that she had lost considerable weight. She had dark circles under her eyes. Her hair that had been clean and tied back in a ponytail when we had seen her before was greasy and hung lankly around her face. 

She pulled her hands inside the sleeves of the sweatshirt and gestured us to go on ahead of her into the living room. She turned into the kitchen and rattled dishes. 

"Do you want some coffee?"

"No, thanks," Parker said. 

Meghan shrugged and followed us into the living room. I stopped in front of the coffee table and couch. Parker stood near the big bay window, and Meghan leaned against the doorframe and stared at us. 

"I haven't seen Ana since last time you asked, so why are you here?" The edge in her voice was more aggressive than I expected. Given her appearance, I was expecting something listless and depressed, but I got the impression of defensiveness and anger lurking under the wasting exterior. 

"We are looking into her disappearance again. Tell us about the last time you saw her. Anything you can think of that you might not have mentioned last time could be the thing we need." Parker put on her best 'I'm listening' pose.

Meghan inched her way into the room and perched on the edge of the couch, with her feet pulled up underneath her. I turned as she moved to keep her in sight. 

She spoke with that same aggression underlying her tone. "I don't know what else I can tell you. I didn't know her very well. She worked first shift and I worked third shift. We didn't see each other very often."

"Tell us about the party, Meghan." Parker leaned in a little closer, putting just a hint more of an order into her tone. 

Meghan crossed her arms over her stomach, then began chewing on the cuticles of her right hand. "It was nothing. Just a stupid party. And she left town before it happened, so it doesn't matter, anyway."

I said, "We know you and Ms. Gulf were dating. We know the party was your coming out announcement. What we want now is the true details out of you."

Her mouth worked open and closed a few times in surprise. Then something shifted. She sat up straight, shoulders back, eyes narrowed. "So you know."

Parker pounced on that. "We want to hear it in your words."

Both of her hands were back inside her sleeves as she jumped up and began pacing back and forth in front of the doorway. "It wasn't my fault. She stood right there." The pacing stopped abruptly as she pointed at me, staring intensely. 

"She stood there and told me that she wasn't cheating on me. That her being pregnant wasn't from her being with a man."

That was not what I had been expecting to hear, but some things clicked into place. Parker was edging closer while Meghan's attention was still firmly on me. I said, "So you killed her. Stabbed her forty-one times with a kitchen knife."

"Yes." She took a jerky step toward me, like a puppet with an inexperienced puppeteer. "She lied. She said she loved me! She was pregnant!" She was almost within arm's reach of me, but wasn't doing anything overtly hostile, so I stood my ground. "Told me she loved only me when she'd been with a _man_!" 

She moved in a blur, the hand holding the knife sliding out of her shirt sleeve at the last second. She rammed a shoulder into my stomach. With the coffee table behind my knees, I went down. The table crashed underneath me and I didn't see where the knife went. 

Meghan whirled away and through the door before Parker even had her pistol out of its holster. The front door crashed open.

"Nathan!"

"I'm fine. Catch her. She had a knife."

Parker took my statement at face value, and that gave me some confidence that the knife wasn't currently planted in my chest. She checked around the corner for an ambush and then was gone. I started working on getting myself extricated from the broken coffee table. I had made it to my feet and was about to run after Parker when she rounded the corner. 

"She was gone by the time I got out there. I called for Laverne to send back-up to knock on doors. We need to make sure she isn't holding someone hostage right now–Nathan?" 

I turned. She was pointing to my side. I raised my arm to get a better look. There was a hole in my shirt and blood was starting to soak through.

"Sit down. Let's get your shirt off." 

I complied, sitting on the couch. I started to unbutton my shirt, but she stopped me with a grip on my hands. "Moving could make it worse. Keep still until we know how bad it is."

She was right. I didn't have to be happy about it, but she was right, so I nodded and pulled my hands out of the way. She quickly worked the buttons and pulled the shirt open. There was more blood soaking the undershirt than I thought there should be based on what had been visible. 

She wiped over the injury once and then balled my shirt up and pressed it against the injury. "I can't tell, Nathan. It might just be a graze slicing the outside of your ribs, but it might have penetrated. It's bleeding pretty bad and you need stitches at least. Call for an ambulance. You can't keep pressure on this where it is."

I sighed. This sort of thing was happening way too often lately. I tugged the phone out of its case and held it up to dial Laverne. There was blood smeared on my arm. I frowned at it, because it was on the wrong arm. Opposite the knife wound. 

"Parker?"

She looked at the blood, then leaned over to check my back. "Stitches are bleeding. Doesn't actually look too bad."

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

By the time we made it back to the station–where I was emphatically not supposed to be according to the ER doctor–Parker had long since coordinated an APB on Ms. Monague's car. A couple of officers had checked other likely locations, such as her parents' home, and our crime scene team had already found physical evidence of the murder inside the house. Blood can be nearly impossible to get rid of from household surfaces. Painting over the stain seems like a good idea to keep it hidden, but add luminol and a black light and it still looks like a neon sign.

What I was most definitely not in the mood for, other than being tied to a desk by medical orders, was to find Dwight calmly waiting outside my office. 

"I thought you were going to be in Camden all morning."

"It's afternoon." 

I took a breath. Whatever he and Duke were doing, it did not look illegal, which meant I had no right to be angry about it. 

"Looks like today might not be such a good time, though. Got a runner?"

Parker arrived. "Meghan Monague."

Dwight looked disconcerted. "That's Adriana Gulf's roommate. She's looking good for this?"

Parker nodded.

"You need to tell Duke." Dwight was looking right at me as he said it, and his tone held an edge of authority he didn't often deploy.

I thought about Duke's body language when we told him we'd found her body. We'd been looking for a guilty reaction. What we'd gotten was fear. He was afraid to look at what he might see, might remember. I hadn't really understood the reaction at the time. I nodded again. I'd make the trip to tell Duke.

Parker suggested Dwight could accompany her to Meghan's mother's house and some of her known favorite places. I was grounded as a liability for the moment. 

Dwight motioned me to the side while Parker was talking to another officer. "If you were to show up at the _Cape Rouge_ with milkshakes–not beer–and food, you might get some of those answers you've been wanting. Text before stepping onto the boat."

I looked at him, confused. I had to admit, at least to myself, that the concussion hadn't fully run its course yet.

He shrugged. "It's a thing, but it's important. Trust me."

Parker joined us. "I think you should go, Nathan. We could drop you off at the marina on our way out to Meghan's parents' house."

I knew the feeling of a headache was psychosomatic, but other subtle signs creeping in on me weren't. I had definitely pushed this concussion too far today. I rubbed my forehead. "Are you sure he'll want company?"

I still didn't know how to read Dwight. His body language and expressions were always...circumspect. There was definitely something I should have gotten when he said, "Yeah," but I missed it.

Dwight went on ahead of us to pull his truck up closer. The station was busy with the sorts of complaints and requests that we saw everyday in our small town. I overheard snatches of conversations as we made our way through the bullpen. 

"Can I help you?" our billing clerk, Leslie Faulkner asked.

"Yes, I need to pay my parking ticket." Bill Munson was dressed in old jeans and a ratty blue puffer vest unzipped over a flannel shirt. A battered trucker's cap rounded out the ensemble. No one would ever guess by looking at him that he owned half the warehouses down near the docks.

At least he paid his fines. Getting him to stop earning the tickets would be better, but he paid them. I still had a file full of Duke's unpaid tickets. They'd been stamped uncollectable when he was presumed dead, and I hadn't ever gotten around to changing the status. Another conversation caught my attention.

"Mrs. Killaby, there is no noise ordinance in effect between noon and four PM. Your neighbor's washing machine running is not something we could cite her for anyway," Officer Diego was explaining patiently.

I made a mental note to put a call in to her daughter tomorrow. Mrs. Killaby had a history of things like bashing her neighbor over the head with an umbrella when her medication was off-kilter.

A man was asking for paperwork to get a home church permit. The Rev's flock had splintered into several of these small meeting groups. I didn't recognize the man, though, which was enough to make me take a closer look. 

The only real descriptor of the man was 'average'. He had light brown hair, was well-groomed with clean clothes, but nothing fancy. Nothing stood out about him. I shrugged. Maybe that was why I couldn't place him. The Rev had had a large following of fairly average people who'd had nothing at all to do with the kidnappings. They were the ones that had splintered the most rapidly, not wanting to be associated with criminal behavior.

A second man stood behind the first. He was tall, barrel-chested, had a broad, large nose, and a shocking amount of red hair standing nearly straight out from his head. He looked uncomfortable being in the station, but not so much that it made me want to stop everything and run his ID for warrants. I would try to remember to pull that permit request for a name later. I liked to check in with all the little splinter groups, just to make sure none of them were true followers of the Rev's madness.

In the corner next to the door, I saw the leader of the volunteer crossing guards, Howard Stahl–a man older than Vince and Dave–filling out a report. He saw me looking, and said, "Speeder over near the Westside Elementary crosswalks."

I gave Mr. Stahl an acknowledgement and then followed Parker outside and down the stairs. After we buckled in and were moving, Dwight asked, "Is Henry's okay with you?"

Henry's had the best shakes in town. "That's fine."

"I called Duke, he's fine with company, but has plans at six."

This was feeling a little too convenient now that I thought about it. "You seemed pretty sure he'd want company." 

Dwight held up a ten dollar bill. "I was taking food over there after I left the station. The two of you need to talk. It works."

Parker interjected with an offer to call in the food order. At Henry's the drink orders had to be placed when you arrived to pick up the food. I handed Dwight some cash and he ran in to pick up the food. I saw Henry greeting him warmly, which was a little surprising since the man tended to be grumpy to everyone, and usually stayed behind the screen in the kitchen to avoid losing customers. His daughter, Bella, ran the front most of the time. 

I saw Bella at the front, waiting on other customers. Dwight definitely had a way with people. Henry made the shakes personally. I noticed when Dwight handed me the box containing the trays and shakes that Duke's tray and cup were both labeled by name. 

"Come here often?" I asked.

"I helped Henry out with something a few years ago."

That wasn't really an answer, but all I was likely to get from him. In just a few minutes, we had arrived at the marina and I was on my way to the Cape Rouge. Parker had promised to call if anything broke on the case, and said that she'd be back to pick me up before six. I felt like I was going on a playdate, complete with the over-protective mom. I sighed. 

I stopped at the edge of the dock and texted Duke. He texted "Ok" back to me, which I took to mean I was free to board. I tried the door, but the handle didn't budge.

I heard locks disengaging. Just how close had we come to getting shot banging on his door in the middle of the night?

The door swung open. Duke had stepped back from the door to give me room in the tight space. A slight grin and no shotgun barrel a few inches from my nose were a big improvement over my last visit. 

"Couldn't wait for Saturday, huh?" he said. "Have a seat. I'll lock the door and then get the plates."

Duke winked at me as he walked by. He'd been tense the other night. I hadn't realized how much so until now. As he took plates from the dish rack and placed them on the table, he kept his movements careful and his arms as close to his chest as possible. 

Right. Bruised ribs. Duke slid into the booth and I handed him his food and drink. Now that the shuffle of getting ready to eat was over, I had time to take a closer look at Duke. 

He looked tired. Exhausted even. The bruises that hadn't been much more than reddish shadows across his cheek had spread out to a livid purple covering his jaw, cheek, and temple. More bruising peeked from under his shirt collar when he reached for his drink. His hand was bruised and puffy, too. None of it quite tallied with what I remembered from Saturday.

Duke was staring at me with a bit of the smartass look he used to always exude around me. "You look like shit, too, Nate." 

I snorted. "Fair enough."

"The next giant mutant animals are all yours."

"I'll give 'em shell."

Duke grinned around a mouthful of food and said, "Cowabunga!"

We went back to eating, this time without the intense scrutiny. I waited until Duke had finished eating before bringing up the case.

Duke had started to slide out of the booth, but I stopped him with, "Duke, we had a breakthrough on the Adriana Gulf case."

His body language shifted instantly. His shoulders hunched, he turned slightly, leaning away from me like he was unconsciously preparing to bolt. He didn't look at me as he said a beat too late for the casual tone he tried to project, "Oh yeah? What was that?"

"The roommate confessed. It was a domestic turned deadly."

Duke uncoiled immediately. His next comment took him several seconds longer than I expected. He had even stood up and taken a step toward the sink when he stopped and looked over at me. "Wait. The roommate… A 'domestic'. You mean like a couple. So they were…" He raised an eyebrow suggestively.

"Lesbians? Not that that is relevant, but yes."

He shrugged, then winced. "Got a point, but tell me that ever entered your thoughts as a possibility."

I shrugged back at him. It hadn't. The case might have been solved months ago if I hadn't assumed she was straight.

"Oh give yourself a break, Nate. Do you want to watch something? Animal Planet?"

I nodded and he clicked the remote as he walked past. "Gotta hit the head. Be right back." Something with elephants came on.

Dwight had been very insistent that this not involve alcohol. I looked around the kitchen. There wasn't a single bottle in sight. That didn't mean none were stashed anywhere else, but I remembered how we had found the _Cape Rouge_ when we realized Duke was missing. There had been an array of bottles to cover any drinking mood, which matched my impression from every other time I'd been in Duke's living space. He'd been drinking since at least middle school, so this was significant.

When Duke returned, he sat on the end of the bench, still guarding his ribs. He wouldn't have been safe driving today anyway. I sat on the other end of the bench. There was something I was missing, but my thoughts wouldn't quite focus. I stared at him while trying to force my brain to give up the answer. Duke ignored me, sipping his milkshake and watching TV. 

It lasted all of three minutes until the next commercial break. "Seriously, Nathan. Do I have a booger hanging out? Have I sprouted a second head? Don't tell me there are about to be hundreds of tiny evil doppelganger Dukes running around wielding forks and trip wires."

"You don't drink anymore." I groaned in my thoughts. That had come out sounding a lot angrier than I intended. It was too easy to fall into old patterns with Duke.

He blinked several times. Then shifted into a pattern I'd seen more times than I cared to, and not where I wanted us to end up this time. "Got out of the habit. Figured it was a good time to not get back into it."

That was his classic, side stepping the truth, not telling a lie on a technicality expression and tone. There was clearly way more to it than that, but he thumbed the volume higher on the TV and I didn't push. I wasn't exactly happy, either, and we were silent for a long while. Duke fidgeted on his end of the bench, glancing over at me several times. Elephants ended and a guy with a British accent and a fishing pole came on. Duke finally emptied his cup and set it aside. 

I reflected, this wasn't entirely terrible. We weren't throwing punches or insults, and for us that was major progress. The fishing guy announced that he was after a fish nicknamed the 'ball crusher' and the meaning was confirmed by a dramatic reenactment with actors and a pronouncement that the victim hadn't survived. 

Duke and I looked at each other and shared a wince of sympathy. With a heavy sigh, he clicked the TV off and scooted a little closer on the bench. His hands twisted nervously. Not a mannerism I'd ever seen from him before the Rev kidnapped him. 

He stared at his hands as he spoke. "I don't drink anymore, because it lowers my control." 

He looked up at me hesitantly. His eyes barely lifted high enough to meet mine. Duke had never been one to share what was really important to him. For him to trust me with this was huge. He seemed to find what he was looking for in my expression, because he met my gaze with more confidence, his chin lifting, and a hint of a grin showing.

I inched marginally closer and placed my hand palm up on the bench between us; inviting, but not demanding. I didn't ask if that had to do with his control over the blood addiction, or with lowering his ability to be vigilant for danger, or maybe both. I just said, "Okay." 

He froze. I had seen this before. Not with Duke, but I recognized the reaction. He'd expected me to question him, want more details, maybe disbelieve him. I was off-script. He wasn't prepared for the conversation to take this turn. He'd held his own in all the other conversations we'd had, so it had to be the personal nature of the admission. 

He shook it off and smiled. "Do you think he caught the fish?"

"I don't know. I bet he didn't go wade fishing."

Duke snickered and turned the show back on. We didn't appear to have missed much. The guy was on a small boat looking for crocodiles now. Before he found any, I saw Duke move in my peripheral vision. I followed his exaggerated movement, which had to have been intended to catch my attention, and saw him grasp my hand with his. 

We both turned back to watching the show, occasionally mocking it. Duke had some choice words about idiot scientists introducing invasive species, which considering that one time we'd caught him smuggling Madagascar Hissing Roaches, was a tad hypocritical, even if he had managed to produce paperwork that we couldn't prove was fake and had paid the fine for not declaring them up front. We watched the next show as well, but as the one following began, Duke seemed to get more nervous again. He kept glancing at the clock. 

"Parker said she'd be here to drive me home before six," I said.

He turned off the TV. "It's not that I'm not enjoying the company, it's just...plans," he shrugged one shoulder apologetically. "You know?" 

He obviously didn't want to explain, and I chose not to ask, one desperately personal admission for the day was enough. He would explain when he was ready, and I found that I could live with that. 

My cell's text alert beeped. Parker was waiting for me. 

Duke went ahead of me to open the locks. Before he got to the door, he turned back, blocking the exit. He shifted foot to foot, and seemed unsure of what to do with his hands. "Are we still on for Saturday?"

"I'm up for it, if you are," I said cautiously. It felt like I was walking a mine field. If I pushed too hard, would I be taking control from him? If I was too careful would he hear that I didn't want him? Then how much was I willing to put myself in peril of the kind of betrayal that had reactivated my Trouble. How much was I willing to risk?

He nodded, his expression as guarded as I figured mine was. We stared at each other for a second then Duke chuckled. "We're both of us thinking about how much to commit, aren't we?"

That sounded like the Duke I remembered. I hmphed at him, but grinned. He made a show of patting my arm as he passed by me, allowing me access to the door. "I'll see you here, Saturday, say ten AM?"

"Ten in the morning for playing cards?"

"You got somewhere better to be?"

I shrugged."Ten it is." My phone beeped again, followed quickly by Duke's also beeping.

"Shoo. Audrey's waiting."

I went through the door, waiting outside until I heard the locks being secured behind me. 

Parker filled me in on all the places Meghan Monague _wasn't_ on the way to my house. She managed to restrain herself from asking how it went with Duke, but I could see she was nearly bursting at the seams with curiosity. I pretended not to notice. She left me with a promise to return in the morning.

I was left alone, which is normally how I like it. It gives me time to do the crafts that no one else seems to understand a man wanting to do. Today, though, I knew better than attempting anything that required fine coordination, concentration, or excessive focusing of my eyes. I wasn't feeling the residual of the concussion in the normal way, but I knew I had pushed it too far earlier, and continuing to push would only make it last longer.

We had eaten a late lunch on the _Rouge_ , but I should eat again today. I put a tray of frozen leftovers in the microwave to thaw, and went for a shower. I thought about Saturday, and where we might end up over the course of the day. I had a lot of memories of the last time Duke and I had tried dating. Sex had never been our problem. There were times it had been the entirety of our relationship, and it was good enough to make a young twenty-something overlook a lot of things that shouldn't have been ignored. Strip poker had been a favorite way to lead into having sex again. I looked down, and grinned. My dick was cooperating so far. 

Dating Jess had reassured me that I could still have a sexual component in my life. The problem was once I was aroused, I couldn't always come. I know theoretically about the independent feedback loop nerve circuit for the penis, and that enough of the right kind of stimulation should result in ejaculation. Keeping the right pressure and pace without connection to my body always left me with the idea lurking in the back of my mind that someday the Troubles would end and what if I had done something permanent to my equipment while I couldn't feel? The risk just to gain a sort of sense of well-being buzzing around the back of my mind usually didn't seem worth trying too hard. 

Worries about whether I'd be able to even get it up if this game with Duke went like the ones years ago pushed out the thoughts of Duke that I wanted to see. I tried imagining how sex with Duke might go now that we were both older, but eventually the hanging thermometer read that the water was getting too cold, and I gave up.

I got out and dried off, my dick still hard. I reapplied bandages, and it had finally gone down by the time I was ready to get dressed. This was never going to work out. Could I really expect anyone to deal with this erratic function long-term? I ate my dinner without bothering to savor the taste, and went to bed very early.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

The next morning, I stepped out on my porch ready for work to find Parker already halfway up my sidewalk. She looked pert and chipper and sunny and any number of other adjectives for happy that annoyed the hell out of me today. By the time we reached the station, she'd had enough.

"What's eating, you, Wournos?" she said as we started up the steps. "I mean, I'm used to you being gruff, but this is downright surly. You didn't have a fight with Duke, did you?"

I gave her a look.

She raised her hands in mock surrender–I knew she'd try again later–and said, "Alright. Backing off."

Dwight met us just inside the door. I waved toward my office. 

"I ran some checks." By which he meant he had called Vince and Dave, and asked them for the history of the Monague family. Something I couldn't easily do since the aftermath of the cabin.

I closed the door behind us. 

Dwight wasted no time beginning his report. "The Monague's Trouble is exactly what we saw with the body. Anything they kill from insects to apparently people–turns into a bog body by the next day. Meghan might not even be aware she's done this. The family has stayed away from any job that involved killing of livestock or anything else for generations." 

Audrey looked at me and said with an edge to her voice, "Good thing it doesn't work with attempted murder."

I… Actually, I hadn't even considered that possibility. Dwight's phone beeped before I formulated a response. 

He checked the text, and said, "She's at the overlook."

It was a short drive to the overlook. We pulled in quietly, sirens off. Meghan was standing with her back toward us, staring out over the water. Her hands were inside her sleeves again, and her arms wrapped around herself.

I drew my gun, but held it at the low ready position, prepared but not directly threatening as we approached.

"I know you're there." she said flatly, not looking at us. 

"Put your hands where we can see them, Ms. Monague." I said.

She turned toward us, hands still concealed. "I found a positive pregnancy test in the trashcan that Monday."

I lifted the gun, pointing it at her. "Hands. Now."

"She came home that day and told me, 'I'm leaving town. Sorry.' Just like that. No explanation. No mention of the pregnancy test. No word on how she betrayed me! Just, 'I'm leaving.' Then she had the gall to say she loved me?" She pulled her hands from the sleeves, finally. The knife was clutched in her left.

Parker took a step to one side for a better line of fire. "Put the knife down. You know it's time for this to be over."

Meghan looked at the knife like she had never seen it before. She took a stumbling step back. "I didn't mean to kill her. I just– She– I was chopping vegetables when she came home, and she said that and I was so-so-so angry. And then there was blood. Blood everywhere. And her face…" 

She looked directly at me for the first time since we had arrived. The knife clattered to the ground. "Why did I cut her face like that?"

I rushed her, pressing her up against a post to handcuff her before she could change her mind. I recited her rights as we marched her to a waiting patrol car, and suddenly a four month old case had been solved through normal police work.

Ms. Monague could be prosecuted and convicted in a court of law, and didn't that satisfy a deep need I hadn't even acknowledged? Over all, I was in a better mood when we returned to the station than I had been in months.

Mrs. Gulf was waiting for me.

She stood outside my office. A wide zone had opened up around her, no one willing to breach her grief. She was twisting a handkerchief in her hands, and the lack of mascara around her eyes spoke loudly of her distress. "It was really Meghan?" 

"I'm afraid so, Mrs. Gulf. She gave a confession with details only we and the M.E. knew. She has declined to have an attorney present and Detective Parker is asking her to write out the confession as we speak."

Mrs. Gulf choked back a sob, but nodded. "Why? Why did she do it?"

"Would you mind stepping into my office?" I opened the door and pulled a chair out for her. I took the chair that was beside her, instead of behind the desk. "Mrs. Gulf, how did you perceive Adriana and Meghan's relationship?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, before speaking. "I know they were a couple, but I always hoped Adriana would find a better woman. They had had fights in the past, and I–" she sobbed, wiping tears with the already wet handkerchief. "I always worried, at least a little, about Meghan having a temper." 

She seemed to diminish right before my eyes from the formidable woman we'd seen throughout the case as the full realization hit that the worry had become reality. I took one of her hands, carefully, in mine. This felt horribly like I was about to rub salt in her wounds. "Mrs. Gulf, Adriana was pregnant when she died."

She pulled her hand free, yanking it to her chest, and eyeing me with suspicion "No."

"I'm afraid it's true."

She almost seemed to be talking to herself. "Oh, why didn't she just tell me? But I know why. It's because I never trusted Meghan one hundred percent. If only she had just told me." She took a deep breath and wrapped her composure back around herself.

Her voice held mostly resignation when she again spoke. "I should have been more forthcoming from the beginning. My family is Troubled."

I nodded encouragingly. 

"When we find that spark of true happiness with another person, it triggers the Trouble. I wasn't sure it would ever work with Adriana. It isn't duplication of the mother. Adriana looked just like her father, even though we hadn't had intercourse at the time I became pregnant. I always thought there still must be some correspondence to the way things work normally. Even in test tube babies they need a man and woman. My husband knew my Trouble was related to pregnancy. I-I didn't make Adriana tell Meghan, since we weren't sure it would work. And that is why my baby is dead."

"Adriana was an adult. It was up to her to disclose or not. I know you must have wanted to protect her, but you couldn't force her. She's dead because Meghan Monague made the choice to attack and stab her. There was nothing you knew in their past that suggested that level of violence, right?"

She shook her head slowly. "No. I knew there were...screaming matches and thrown dishes."

"It doesn't sound to me like you had any way of predicting this level of reaction. Nothing I've heard has given me the impression of a classic controlling partner. Even as a trained police officer, I didn't expect her confession or her swift change from calm to violent with us yesterday."

She stood up, and patted my shoulder. "Thank you. I'm ready to go home now."

I stood and handed her a card for Claire. "We'll need to schedule a time to do a more thorough interview regarding their relationship, and the prosecutor will likely want to take your statement as well. With your help, we can make sure Ms. Monague doesn't get a chance to hurt anyone else."

She sighed heavily, and took the card. "I'll do whatever I can to help, but not today. I have a funeral to arrange."

I escorted her out. She turned back just before walking out the door. "I know it was her right to decide who to tell about our Trouble, Chief, but I don't know that I'll ever be able to forgive myself."

I thought about it for a second. I still felt guilty over not being able to connect with the Chief when he needed me. "It wasn't my place to tell you what to feel. If you need anything let me know."

She smiled sadly, and nodded before leaving.

A peek into the interrogation room showed a subdued looking Meghan Monague handwriting her confession under the watchful electronic eye of a video camera. Parker sat across the table, staring at her stonily. When Ms. Monague finished writing, she would be asked to verify again that she understood she could have a lawyer, but was foregoing requesting one, then to read her statement out loud, verify that she was telling the truth, and finally sign it, all on the video. If there were any details missing, Parker would ask her to clarify. I wanted this as clean and airtight as possible.

About noon, I saw Ms. Monague being escorted to the cells. Parker marched into the office and slouched in the chair Mrs. Gulf had sat in earlier. "Well, it's all done except the paperwork," she announced.

I slid the forms, completed except the spaces requiring details from the confession, across the desk to her.

"You really know the way to a girl's heart, Wuornos."

Duke appeared in the doorway. "Cheating on me already?" 

Parker and I shared a glance. 

Duke froze. "Oh no. Too close for today?"

Parker took him by the arm and gently pulled him further into the room. His body language stiffened at her touch, but only for a moment, before he forced himself to relax. He had brought a bag of food and tray of coffees from the _Grey Gull_. 

"So the roommate thought she was being cheated on?" Duke asked as he handed out coffees.

Parker looked at me with a raised eyebrow. I held up my hands, warding off the look. "I didn't tell him that."

"Oh please. it's the only thing being talked about at the _Gull_ today. I would have thought with two women, it wouldn't have come to this."

I shrugged. I had thought pretty the same thing.

"Actually, research shows that domestic violence rates are the same or even higher in same sex relationships. It's less likely to be reported, and less likely to be taken as seriously by law enforcement."

"Officer Agent Parker, you surprise me." 

Duke was officially trying too hard, but he was trying and that was worth a lot.

Parker shrugged. "Domestic violence was something we saw a lot in the FBI. Not as the primary charge, of course, but a component. I used to _really_ do nothing but work, including research on my time off." 

Duke had brought sandwiches, and we finally settled into eating. He didn't say much while we ate, but I was beginning to get used to a Duke that comfortable with quiet moments. His movements were much more natural today. The turtle neck sweater couldn't cover the bruising he'd taken to the face, but something was concealing most of it. 

Parker chatted about the various B&Bs in town and how much better it was to have an apartment. That segued into talk of the various small businesses around town. Duke eventually launched into a tale of Otis the Bull that had broken through fence after fence to reach Mr. Benjy's cows, and generally terrorized the town one summer until one day he was found with his head stuck inside a tire swing. It had taken hours to remove the tire from Otis' head, and the bull had just looked so embarrassed throughout the process. He'd never escaped again.

I laughed in spite of myself, but finally had to remind everyone that we had a lot of work to do to prepare this case for the prosecutor. Parker headed to her desk, not being subtle at all about giving us some space.

I stood awkwardly near Duke. I knew where our boundaries had once been, but now everything was different. He took a half-step back, and seemed satisfied. I said, "Thanks for bringing lunch."

He grinned shyly, and that was new, too. He'd always been supremely confident. "It felt good to be back with the both of you." He glanced through the interior window, and added with more confidence, "Even if I still don't like police stations." 

"So Saturday, I'll bring the poker chips? Anything else I need to bring?"

"Nah, that sounds good. I'll see you then."

Parker appeared as if by magic as I watched Duke walk away. "What, no goodbye kiss?"

I glared at her until she said, "Alright already! Report finishing."

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

The week dragged with no Trouble or significant criminal happenings. We found the cross-walk speeder and got Mrs. Killaby set up with a short stay in the Freddie to stabilize her medications. I wrote reports and collated data concerning the current levels of spending within the department. It was all typical small-town police work.

I went to the _Gull_ on Thursday for an early supper. Duke was initially no where to be seen, which surprised me. He had loved the attention he got from customers before. Prided himself on being the perfect combination of the bartender you could pour your grievances out to and hip host of the best party in Haven.

I noted that the atmosphere was decidedly more family oriented than party now. Probably the influence of Tracy. Duke stopped by my table eventually, but didn't stay long. I got the impression he didn't like the crowd. 

Saturday. Finally. I stepped out on the porch, coffee cup in hand, and looked out at my driveway. The Bronco fairly gleamed with the wax job the shop had done to finish off their repairs. It was a nice feeling not to be stuck waiting on anyone else to get places.

I texted Duke when I arrived at the marina. By the time I reached the end of his dock, he was standing on the steps that bridged the gap to the ship. The bruising on his face had started to heal, and was a rainbow hue of yellows and greens at the edges and deep purples in the middles. More impressive was the smile. He looked confidently happy. The first time I'd seen that since since before he'd been taken. 

I smiled back. We could do this. It might be crazy to try, given our history, but I had realized somewhere between thinking he was dead and seeing him the other day that if l cared as little as I had been telling myself for years then losing him wouldn't have hurt so much. Maybe we had both learned something. He had been the one to ask for this date, after all. 

Inside, Duke had set out some chips and snacks. It looked familiar and even felt familiar when we sat down and the cards started hitting the table. We didn't have counterfeit money this time, so the poker chips were divvied up.

It was fun. We talked about some of the good times we'd had. There had been a few no matter how I had focused on the bad in the last few years. We laughed. Duke laughed. I knew I wanted to keep finding reasons to hear that in the future. 

We took a break around noon to eat. Duke suggested that we eat on the deck, so I took the drinks and went topside ahead of him. It was several minutes before he appeared with sandwiches. He did a subtle perimeter check, and sat near the hatch with his back to the wall. I wondered if he would have eaten out here if he'd been alone. 

After we had finished eating, we sat just enjoying the sun and sea for a few minutes. Duke picked up his glass of tea and swirled it. "Do you remember in tenth grade…." he trailed off. 

His body language was still relaxed, but his eyes were fixed on the stairs, looking away from me. I waited a bit for him to continue, but finally prompted, "I remember tenth grade, Duke."

He shook his head slightly, like he needed to refocus. "Yeah. Do you remember how you used to come sit on the bleachers every day? By yourself. You always had some notebook with you."

I grinned. "I was supposed to be working on art projects. That's what I told the Chief."

"Watching Gillian Peaks' bouncing assets during cheer practice was more like it."

"Heh. Yeah. I remember that. And one day you sat at the other end of the bench. Didn't say anything. I expected you to cause trouble." Duke had been too busy doing illegal business under the bleachers the couple of years before then to spend much time causing me trouble, but I've never been the trusting type.

Duke set the glass on the table and leaned closer. "I knew what you were thinking. It took two weeks to get close enough to say hi to you." 

"And then we were friends–at least when no one else was around."

"That was you as much as me!"

I leaned in, matching his pose. "I know."

"Then I figured out you were watching Brenden practice football as much as you were Gillian, and I followed you to your truck."

"We kissed. My first kiss. I panicked. Thought you would out me to the whole school, and I quit talking to you for a year." I wondered where he was going with all this. It wasn't something we usually brought up. When we were together we tended to _not_ bring up the past, for exactly this sort of reason. Our past was as rocky as our present had been until recently.

He sighed in a self-satisfied way, and leaned back again. "But I was persistent, and you eventually came around."

"Only you would think trying to dump a bucket of pudding over my head would make me talk to you again."

"I was _going_ to offer to help you clean it off."

"The look on your face when it hit Mr. Thomas instead was priceless."

"Totally worth the suspension when you caught up with me that night." He stood up. "Come on, let's play some cards."

I shrugged and followed him inside. In a few minutes, the dishes were done and a new hand had been dealt. We were pretty even for a while, but a sudden streak of bad hands left my chips drawn down. I bet the last of them on a full house, and he slapped down four threes. 

I pushed the pile toward him. Well, now we were down to the interesting part of the day. I decided I would bet my shoes first. That was a safe start. Or maybe it was too conservative? Betting shoes first didn't really spell interest. Duke collected the chips slowly. He shuffled the cards slowly. He noticed me looking at him and gave a patently fake smile. The shuffling and then dealing sped up. I picked up my cards, watching Duke do the same from the corner of my eye. 

His shoulders had hunched in and one knee was jumping under the table, shaking his shirt. Then he straightened up like he was facing battle, and put in his ante. I didn't know exactly what was going on in his mind right now, but there was no way I was going forward with this with him looking like the possibility of engaging in anything sexual with me equaled facing a firing squad. 

I put my cards down on the table, and slowly reached for his hands. His eyes followed the movement with an expression that stopped me before my hands crossed the center line of the table. 

"Duke. We don't have to do this. I don't expect you to do anything you aren't comfortable with." 

He dropped the cards and jerked his hands back to his chest. He glanced at my face before shuffling back into the corner and hugging his knees up. I'd seen that before at the cabin. I leaned back, giving him more space. 

He scrubbed a hand through his hair, annoyance coming through in his tone. "I thought I could do it. I really did. I'm sorry, Nate."

"I'm… I was… concerned about keeping up my side of things. I am actually very okay with taking things as slow as we need. Even if that's never."

He met my gaze, finally. 

"You don't have to have sex with me for me to spend time with you, Duke."

He snaked a hand toward mine. "It's not like that. I want to. It's just– Did you know that you're naked in the ICU?"

I shook my head no, and carefully grasped his proffered hand. 

"I barely even noticed while I was in there. They had me on some serious shit." 

I squeezed his hand. He was quiet for almost a full minute, staring over my shoulder. When he started talking again, I knew he wasn't talking about the hospital staff. 

"I used to love being naked. Didn't even phase me at first. Even when they'd all come in the room. I knew it was just a tactic to make me nervous, but every time I broke the rules–" He stopped and seemed to be coaching himself on what to say next. "When they–" He was squeezing my hand like a lifeline. His knuckles were white.

"McKee?"

Duke flinched at the name, but nodded slightly. "They'd strip my clothes, then leave me to wait. If I fell asleep it was worse."

"So now…"

He uncoiled and faced me. "I'm fine changing, taking quick showers, and wearing clothes. Lots of clothes." He tugged at the collar of his shirt revealing more layers than I had suspected he was wearing. 

"So we take it slow. Get comfortable. Then when you're good, plan ahead what comes off."

He pensively considered it for a minute. "You want to watch TV? Until six?"

Abrupt subject changes seemed to be an ongoing feature of Duke's new conversation style. I nodded. "Sure." 

He sat in the corner and motioned me toward him. I hesitated. He'd be behind me if we sat like that, and who knew what he could do without me knowing. I stopped myself, shaking my head at the old instinct not to trust.

Duke held his hands out to the side. "I'll make sure you can see my hands. I'm not going to touch you without letting you know first."

I sat down and leaned back against him. He kept his hands where I could see them. "Lean your head right, Nathan. I can't see."

He clicked the TV on. He moved slowly to take one of my hands with his. The ball crusher fish show was on again, but this time the guy was talking about man-eating catfish in France. Neither of us paid particular attention to it, though. We had never been this close without it progressing quickly to sex in some form. I could hear his breath on my ear, and the small sounds of cloth rustling as he moved. We massaged each other's hands. I watched all the ways the skin shifted and moved, shadows and creases, light and ridges. The level of intimacy was something I'd never felt before; never would have thought possible from holding hands with someone. 

Ten minutes before six, I pulled away. "You want to do this again?"

Duke's voice was breathy, aroused, "Oh, yeah."

We stood up, facing each other, and now it seemed natural for our hands to come together, no hesitation. "Date same time next week?" Duke looked a little disappointed. I quickly added, "Doesn't mean that's the only time we can see each other."

Duke smiled again. That shy one that I was finding to be a maddeningly good look on him. He tugged on my hands, and I let him pull me in chest to chest, our hands still between our shoulders. It...worked, despite the oddity. He leaned his head on my shoulder. "I like the sound of that."

We stood together for a while, until a watch alarm started beeping. Duke disentangled himself from our embrace. "It's six."

This fixation on me being gone by six was weird, but seemed harmless enough for now, so I nodded. He followed me to the door, and I waited just outside until I heard him turning the locks. In my truck, I realized I was hard, and wasn't that embarrassing–I hadn't even thought to check earlier. I leaned back and smiled. I wasn't going to have a problem in the shower tonight.

 

 


End file.
